


Black and White

by hpbrat2



Series: Drabbles of Drabbleness [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Battle of the Mysteries, Canonical Character Death, Drabble, Gen, NaNoWriMo, Post Battle, Thought Processes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-30 22:52:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5182646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpbrat2/pseuds/hpbrat2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's thoughts while in the Hospital Wing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black and White

It was light, as usual. White. Bright. Too much white. Sterile. Cold.

He’d been here before. The bed practically had his name on it. It certainly wouldn’t be the last time in this bed, if his current track record was anything to go by.

This time, though, even the room felt like it was mocking him. Sirius was gone. He had to defeat Voldemort.

He was the only one who could.

It could have been Neville, but he wouldn’t wish this feeling on his friend for anything in the world.

The hospital was so different from the Veil Chamber of the Department of Mysteries. It was white where the other room was black. It was silent, without the subtle whispers coming from behind the curtains. The light streamed through the windows that lined the two long walls, not stone walls lined with stone pillars, seeming to absorb the light, hiding things in the shadows of the corners of the room.

It wasn’t fair! He should have known it was all a set up. All a fluke. It didn’t even matter that they had won, they had still lost Sirius. They had still lost something important and didn’t even have anything to show for it!

Well, he supposed, that wasn’t exactly true. They now knew why Voldemort wanted him dead. Why Voldemort wanted him so badly. He knew what the corridor he had spent all year dreaming about was, which was almost comforting to have that mystery solved. The Ministry also couldn’t deny that Voldemort was back anymore. That gave them a strong advantage in the upcoming war.

For the war would be coming, there was no denying that any longer.

But for now, Harry lay on the twin mattress, with white sheets and a white blanket in a white walled room, the morning sun just coming up and glaring off of the polished white floor.

Madam Pomfrey bustled out of her office, her white, starched uniform matching the sterile, cold room as she brought him a bowl of porridge. Harry obeyed as she told him to sit up, to eat, to take the potions, but he was just going through the motions.

The blinding white of the room was only reinforcing the lack of dark.

The lack of Black.

The loss of his godfather. The last connection he had had to his family, the last person he may have been able to go live with. The last person who cared.

Half a bowl of porridge in, he laid back and curled onto his side, knees drawn tightly to his chest as he tried to hold in the pain that was threatening to tear apart his chest and drown him in its intensity.

This was it. He couldn’t let anyone in. He couldn’t put them at risk of dying like Sirius had. Luna, Ginny, they were too young, too innocent. They didn’t deserve to be dragged through the hell that seemed to surround him. Ron, Hermione, he had put them through enough in their years at Hogwarts. Between the rescue attempt of the Sorcerer’s Stone, the Polyjuice incident, the trip into the Chamber of Secrets, the battle against the Dementors with the Time-Turner, the same night they had to fight off a werewolf (twice even for Hermione!) and a mass murderer. And Neville, _Neville!_ The boy was a Gryffindor through and through, encompassing all of the strongest traits of the house in all the best ways. Harry knew he had no right to drag the boy into this mess. He’d already lost his parents, or as good as, and Harry had no right to drag him further in to this mess. He didn’t deserve to be another casualty to this war.

Not like Cedric.

If only he hadn’t asked the boy to take it with him. If only they hadn’t been so damn noble! If only he had realized that it was all a trap, a set up. He had just turned 17. Just entered adulthood with the rest of his life ahead of him, until Voldemort saw him as a spare, simply because he wanted Harry more.

It wasn’t fair and he couldn’t ask that of Neville or Ron or Hermione or Ginny or Luna.

He continued to watch the sun slowly move across the blinding floor instead of looking at the other beds. He couldn’t bear to look at Ron, marks across his arms, face, neck, and torso from those stupid brains. Nor at Neville, who was at his side until the end, not giving up despite the odds all being against them. Or zany, brave Luna who was so happy to just be with them, and put up more of a fight than he ever expected of her. Or feisty Ginny, so used to fighting with her brothers, so unused to fighting when someone was trying to kill her. Or Hermione, even all of her book learning and practice couldn’t stand up to the Death Eaters. He couldn’t risk losing any of them.

He couldn’t do that to them.

But for now, all he could do was stare at the never-ending white, grieve for Black, and end the world of the red-eyed monster trying to rule them all.


End file.
